A BEER WITH THE LADS ON THE TERRACE...

A Beer With the Lads On the Terrace

Dour individuals gradually

Pour onto well-worn steps,

The terracing presumably owned

But their dull appearance seemingly cloned:

One arm raised, the hand clutched rapturously

Around another cold beer

And the continuous, dreary rain falls, unceasingly.

Dour characters steadily

Sour in small, harsh groups,

The grimacing ostensibly rueful

But their droll ‘humour’ chillingly spiteful:

Taut arms raised, vile mouths rebuking viciously,

Fuelled by another cold beer

And the callous, profane abuse hurls, unremittingly…

Pete Ray

January, 2016.

These are not young men, either.

They are non-league football’s curse.

They seem to demand a licence to abuse linesmen, referees, opposing players and supporters.

Children witness it, hear it, ape it.

Good situation all round.

Not…